


King's Commands

by flameofarcana



Series: Royalty AU [3]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Body Worship, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sexual Content, itachi isnt as sexually creative as shisui but he tries his best, no thoughts head swoon for itachi, shisui is stupid in love this entire thing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-25
Updated: 2020-10-25
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:21:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27195739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flameofarcana/pseuds/flameofarcana
Summary: Shisui has had a lot of fun with his king lately.Now it's Itachi's turn.
Relationships: Uchiha Itachi/Uchiha Shisui
Series: Royalty AU [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/921291
Comments: 4
Kudos: 66





	King's Commands

**Author's Note:**

> royalty au part three? why yes
> 
> this got long and kinda boring :/ wrote it so I might as well post it lmao but I'm very dissatisfied with it
> 
> unedited bc I suck
> 
> this is exceptionally out of character, even for me. idk man I hope it is still enjoyable

Shisui thinks that he might kill Kakashi.

Scratch that, Shisui _will_ kill Kakashi, and the more broken weapons he has to shove in this half-shredded sack, the more painful he thinks he will make it.

Of course the lazy son a bitch disappeared the first moment that he got. Of course he let it to Shisui to clean up his mess, even though this is _absolutely_ above his paygrade. If Itachi wasn’t steadfast in ruling with such an unbiased, level fist, Shisui would use his status as _lover_ to pull some strings and give Kakashi a slap or two on the wrist.

He’s halfway to the blacksmith’s workshop for the second time that day when he spots two jounin lounging against the side of a small café.

He makes a beeline toward them.

“Genma, Hayate! How are my favorite subordinates?”

Genma groans, trying to duck out of Shisui’s line of sight. “Oh come on,” he grumbles, “not you.”

“Me,” Shisui says cheekily, tossing the heavy bag at Genma’s feet. 

“We’re _off,_ Captain,” Hayate complains, the circles under his eyes permanently stained to his skin.

“No such thing as off when serving the kingdom of Our Majesty.” His voice is as sweet as his smile as he claps the skinny, tired guard on his shoulder. “Surely you two won’t mind taking this to Asuma, yeah?”

Genma rubs the back of his head, looking down at a broken blade poking out through a fraying hole in the knapsack. “I don’t think whether or not we mind matters to you.”

“You’re right, it absolutely doesn’t.” Shisui blows him a kiss. “You know me so well.”

“Save it for the King,” Genma mutters, crouching down.

“Oh, I have _much_ more for our beloved King.” Itachi and Shisui’s relationship is far from a secret; if anyone thinks that it is any measure of scandalous or inappropriate, Itachi simply refuses to so much as entertain the idea. No one wants to get on either of their bad sides, so there hasn’t been any objections so far. Shisui thinks that it actually might be in Itachi’s benefit, since Shisui hasn’t exactly been known for being gentle on the battle field, and now it’s well known that he has a very _personal_ stake in Itachi’s safety.

“We will take care of it, Captain,” Genma assures. “It will be done before morning.”

Shisui would have preferred a ‘yes sir, we will do it immediately, sir,’ but he won’t push his luck any further. “Excellent! I will see you tomorrow at the training grounds.”

Hayate sneezes into his sleeve when he opens his mouth to reply.

Bland mother fucker is always allergic to the goddamn air.

Shisui spins on his heel, waving a hand behind him as he leaves his responsibilities in their incapable hands.

He dodges _two_ inquiries on his way back to the castle. He’ll pay for it tomorrow, sure, especially since he is supposed to be warm and friendly, but he has only one thing on his mind. He has decided that he is officially off the clock, and his duties have shifted from serving his king to _serving_ his king.

He can’t remember the last time he spent a night alone in his own chambers. At the beginning of their relationship, he wanted to give Itachi space, one part scared that Itachi would get sick of him if he lingered too closely. He kept his own things in his own room, spent most of his free time there when Itachi was busy. Itachi started showing up in his bed at random hours of the day, offhandedly mentioning that his own chambers didn’t smell like Shisui enough. When Shisui didn’t take the hint, he started stealing Shisui’s clothes, shoes, books, soaps. One day Shisui looked around his room and realized it was practically gutted, and Itachi had all but moved him out and into the king’s quarters.

It’s a lovely feeling, to be infallibly desired. Lovelier still is being so desired by _Itachi_ , Shisui’s sun and stars, the one who, for all intents and purposes, makes the moon glow at night.

Coming back to their bedroom every day, knowing Itachi will be there, makes any and all difficulty he has ever and will ever face bearable.

The outdoor lanterns flicker gently as he makes his way across the wooden deck, illuminating the subtle yet ornate golden designs that decorate the door to the royal chambers.

Itachi is fresh out of his bath. The warm air around him smells vaguely of jasmine from the soap he uses. Shisui is well accustomed to the smell, familiar with it as he is familiar with his own skin. The scent of jasmine calms him now, fills him with peace and love, lulls him to sleep.

“You bathed without me,” he accuses.

Itachi pauses, hands halfway raised to his hair, and turns his head to cast a glance over his shoulder. His hair, long and inky black, is tied up on top of his head so it doesn’t wet the silk of the deep blue robe on his back. It’s Shisui’s robe, as always, as if he doesn’t have his own golden ones. “I didn’t know you wanted to bathe with me.”

“When do I not?”

Shisui moves farther into the room. He kicks his boots off, letting his robe slip down his shoulders so he can toss it over a fur-lined lounge chair. “How was your day, love?” he asks.

“Mm,” Itachi hums. He looks back to his dresser, appraises himself in the mirror. It’s unlike him. “Quite alright.”

“Yeah?” Shisui starts to unbutton his shirt. “Today was alright, yeah. Kakashi broke his long sword while teaching some idiot to spar.”

“How unlike him.”

“Right? I’m wondering if he just did it so he has an excuse to shirk off his duties.” Shisui shrugs his shirt off and lets it fall to the floor. “Asuma said he can forge him a new one, but it’s irritating all the same. To get a weapon of that quality will be a week or so.”

Itachi brushes his fingers over the vials and bottles that line the back of his wardrobe. He doesn’t say anything.

“You alright?” Shisui asks. He frowns, running a hand over his head. “Love?”

Itachi turns his head again, makes eye contact with Shisui, and then turns to face him completely. He appraises Shisui for a moment, eyes lingering on his bare chest. He lifts one hand, making a ‘come here’ motion.

Shisui pads forward, the expensive carpet soft on his feet after a day of standing. He doesn’t quite take to Itachi being sad; his mind races through a million reasons of why Itachi could be upset, and two million ways to make it better.

Itachi reaches out and touches his palm against Shisui’s cheek.

Shisui leans into it, presses a kiss against it, arms circling around Itachi’s waist.

He’s so _warm._

“Will you do my hair for me?” Itachi requests.

Shisui grins, then, and he squeezes Itachi. “You know I always will.”

Itachi smiles at him.

Shisui grabs the long bottle of oil off of the top of his vanity. It’s an expensive oil, pressed from some sort of tree up north. It’s different than the creams and lotions Shisui has sought out from local vendors. It’s _excessive_ as Itachi likes to say. Shisui likes to say that Itachi deserves to be spoiled with the finest things possible.

Itachi kneels on a cushion, the blue robe flowing around his legs, and sits on his feet. Shisui gets on his knees behind him and unscrews the glass top. He lets Itachi’s hair down from his bun and uses a wooden comb to brush through it, careful to be gentle with any tangles.

It’s getting so _long_.

He spreads the oil on his hands and runs them over Itachi’s hair, sliding his fingers through black strands.

“So beautiful,” he sighs, smiling fondly. He reaches around to lock Itachi into another hug. “Beautiful beyond words,” he murmurs, kissing his cheek.

Itachi tilts his head slightly. “Thank you. You give me too much credit.”

“Not nearly enough credit,” Shisui counters. He presses his lips to the top of Itachi’s shoulder. “Are you feeling okay?”

Itachi twists just a bit in his arms. His eyes are fond. “I’m feeling very well.”

“You’re quiet.”

“I thought that I am always quiet.”

Shisui presses his face into Itachi’s neck. “You know what I mean. You swear you are not sad or anything?”

Itachi leans back into his embrace. He has that patient, endearing look on his face, the one that assures Shisui of how adored he truly is. “I swear it on my own crown, I am not at all sad.”

That’s a good enough promise. Shisui stands up to put the oil back on the dresser. When he turns back around, it feels like he has been punched in the gut.

Itachi is standing too, now, finger combing his hair again. His robe has shifted open, and the golden hem folds across his skin like the gentle lapping of water. His collar bone cuts across his shoulder, connects to the hollow of his throat, and then down the line between the muscles on his chest. The golden light of his lanterns hits him just right, casting him in a gentle glow.

Shisui is beyond smitten. He is ridiculously in love, entirely devoted, and he wonders if there will ever be a day that he doesn’t feel this way when he looks at Itachi.

He doesn’t think that it’s possible.

“I love you, you know,” he says, walking toward Itachi.

Itachi’s lips quirk. “How sweet you are tonight.”

“Aw, come on. That implies I’m not sweet every night.”

Itachi takes Shisui’s hands as he reaches out for him. He kisses the back of his knuckles.

“Do I not show my affection to His Majesty’s royal standards?”

Normally, Itachi would scoff or playfully scold Shisui for calling him by such a title. He never likes it when any of his immediate loved ones, Shisui or Naruto or Sasuke (not that Sasuke would ever willingly call Itachi his king) refer to him as such. He’s the most disgruntled when Shisui says it.

‘ _I’m not your King, Shisui. I am your partner, and you are mine. We are equals.’_

He doesn’t chide Shisui, though, not this time. He just stares at him with this calculating, rolling gaze.

Unless they were in front of the court, Shisui was not to call him by any royal title. Even in the court, Shisui got away with calling him by name. Hell, sometimes he got away with calling him ‘sweetheart.’

Honestly, the only place where Shisui consistently calls Itachi by those titles is—

It hits Shisui, then, why Itachi is looking at him like that, why he’s acting so subdued.

Oh.

 _Oh_.

He doesn’t need to be convinced. He slips one hand out of Itachi’s grasp, reaches out and presses his hand to the bare skin exposed where the silk robe slips away.

Itachi takes him by his jaw, one thumb on Shisui’s chin. He has this—sharp little glimmer in the corner of his eye.

Shisui’s stomach flutters.

Itachi rubs his thumb over Shisui’s bottom lip, slow, calculating.

“My King?” Shisui whispers.

Itachi’s lips curl just a bit. Something behind his eyes glows. “Yes,” he says. “Your king.”

Shisui lets his hand linger on Itachi’s chest. His mouth is going dry, heart rate speeding up. Itachi’s cheeks are flushed from the warmth of his bath. His lips are pink, full. Shisui knows they’re soft. His eyes are dark, murky, just a little hooded; he’s keeping something from Shisui.

Shisui can guess what it is, and he’s more than happy to indulge him.

He takes half a step forward, leaning in for a kiss. Just as he thought, Itachi’s lips are _soft_ , and they part easily to kiss back. Shisui’s hands go to his hips, squeezing over the silk. The heat that radiates off of Itachi’s body is so goddamn enticing. Itachi’s smell is intoxicating.

Shisui loves him like his life depends on it. Maybe it does.

Itachi presses closer, one hand coming up to cradle Shisui’s jaw. He’s being tender, reserved, almost, and Shisui thinks that he’ll fuck him slow tonight. He’ll draw it out, make it burn _good_ , all but drown Itachi in pleasure. He’ll fuck Itachi till he can’t take it anymore, till he can’t see straight, till the only thing he remembers is Shisui’s name.

Itachi pulls away. That little smile is still on his wet lips.

Shisui tugs on his hip a little, and then trades it for his hand. He tries to coax him to the bed.

Itachi doesn’t move. “Shisui,” he says. His voice is level.

“Yeah?”

“Could you do me a favor?”

Shisui blinks at him a few times. His mouth opens for a second, and then he says, “Yes, of course. What do you need?”

Itachi slides his fingers down the golden hem of the robe he wears. “Could you get me a strawberry cake?”

Shisui’s brows furrow in confusion. “What?”

Expression unchanging, Itachi repeats, “A strawberry cake. From the kitchens. They should have some ready; if not, have them make it quickly.”

Shisui cannot fathom why Itachi is making this request of all things, especially since it _seems_ as though Itachi’s mind is elsewhere. He’ll do it, though, of course he will. “Of course, my love.” He ducks forward and kisses Itachi’s cheek. “I’ll be back in a _flicker_ ,” he jokes.

Itachi smiles, reaching out to pat Shisui’s face. “Thank you.”

Shisui doesn’t care enough to redress, doesn’t have enough shame to worry about being half naked; he hurriedly shoves his feet into some sandals by the door and leaves shirtless. It’s summer, so the air outside isn’t chilled like it normally is, and it hugs around Shisui’s bare chest and arms. He huffs.

Cicadas and crickets chirp softly beyond the trees. Dusk starts to settle as the sky dulls, the light of the stars pricking to life in the growing darkness. The members of the royal court are settling down, and this wing of the castle is quiet as people turn in for the night. Even Sasuke’s chamber is silent when he passes by.

He makes his way through the indoor halls quickly. His sandals clack inelegantly against the stone floor, giving away how quickly he is walking.

The kitchen is cleaning up when he enters, pushing the swinging door out of his way. One of the cooks, an old, stout woman, frowns when she sees him.

“Is there a problem?” She asks. Her eyes flick over his bare upper body, and her nose wrinkles.

Shisui shakes his head. He sighs. “No, everything is fine. The King has requested a strawberry cake. You don’t happen to have any on hand, do you?”

She lets out a breath, turning on her heel. “Ayumi!” She shouts to the other end of the kitchen. “You need to prep a cake. Quickly!”

There’s some fumbling from inside a store room, and a young girl pokes her head out. “A-a cake? At this hour?”

“That’s what I said, isn’t it! Now hurry, it’s for the King!”

Shisui gives the disgruntled old cook a winning smile as thanks and then leaves them to it. He sits on the floor outside of the kitchen, leans up against the wall. He rests his arms on his bent knees, head knocking back against the marble behind him. It’s cool on the backs of his shoulders. The cool helps still his mind, body, and blood from getting ahead of himself in the bedroom.

He doesn’t mind being interrupted, really. Itachi deserves every strawberry cake in the world, he thinks. Itachi deserves cakes made out of strawberry, blueberry, peach, plum—anything you can make a cake out of.

The dignitaries from Suna had finally _left_. A treaty was established between Konoha and Suna, slow as it took, and an alliance was formed. It is the first alliance Suna has ever made, and the news was quickly sweeping through the surrounding nations. Different kings and leaders wanted to know _how_ Itachi tamed the thus far feral, sandy beast; Itachi has never clutched Naruto more closely, has never been more adamant that Sasuke doesn’t scare him off. The soldiers that were sent to Konoha are, of course, only given the very best treatment under Shisui (and maybe slightly poorer treatment under Kakashi). He trains them vigorously, teaching them the fighting style and weaponry of the fire kingdom, and they teach him tactics of their own.

The most useful ally yet is a bitter old woman named Chiyo. She may have her grudges against Konoha, but she won’t deny the orders of her King, and so she has taken up residence in Konoha to share the most well kept, envied secret Suna has to offer— _poison_. Sakura is their single most talented medic, and she’s positively blooming under Chiyo’s rigorous instruction.

For the first time ever, there are visitors from Suna vacationing in Konoha’s lush, temperate climate. Itachi has gone out of his way to greet each new arrival personally, trying to disarm some of their worries about venturing into previously enemy territory. It helps that Gaara himself _insists_ on visiting as soon as possible to spend time with his newly adored Naruto.

The kingdom is flourishing for the first time in its shoddy history. In the handful of years that he has been in power, Itachi has worked so fiercely to sweep up his father’s mess and bring some _life_ back to Konoha and its inhabitants. And it’s finally paying _off_.

Itachi has never been happier.

Shisui has never been prouder.

It’s like a new fountain of relief has started bubbling in Itachi’s belly. He laughs more than he used to, leaves his study more than he used to. He indulges Naruto’s silly games, pretends that it takes longer than thirty seconds to solve his riddles. He’s become so fucking _warm_ that even Sasuke’s icy exterior is starting to melt.

Sometimes, sometimes when they’re all together eating or drinking, Itachi lifts his head and looks at Shisui, and—and Shisui thinks that everything in his life has built up just so he could see the joy in Itachi’s eyes.

The baker brings him the cake just a minute later; its ornate, tall, smothered in sweet pink frosting. A crown of strawberries circles the top of it, white rosettes nesting against the base. It’s dusted with dainty flakes of gold.

It’s very much over the top. Shisui shakes his head fondly, smiling as he makes his way back to the bedroom.

“Sorry that took a minute, babe,” he says, pushing the door open with one hand. He keeps his eyes on the cake as he balances it, careful to not drop it. “They did not, in fact, have one already made.”

When he gets into the room, he finally looks up.

He almost drops the fucking cake.

Itachi is resting back on his massive mound of pillows. His blue robe has spilled open, curving and swirling off of his thighs and onto the sheets around him; it looks like he’s lying in a river, and if it were any other situation, Shisui would take a moment to admire his beauty.

But Itachi’s head is tilted back, neck arching, lips parted, and his legs are spread, and his _hand_ is moving up and down his—

Shisui chokes. “ _Itachi!_ ” He slams the door shut, locks it clumsily with one hand, scrambles to find the closest surface to dump the cake. “You couldn’t _wait_ for me?” He slides the cake onto a stool and whirls around.

Itachi is still lazily stroking himself. His head lolls to the side so he can make eye contact. “Who said I needed you?”

At first it stings, like he snapped a rubber band against Shisui’s heart. Itachi not needing him is incomprehensible; Itachi not _wanting_ him is somehow worse. Shisui sees him smirk, though, just with the corners of his mouth, and so he knows that it’s only teasing.

“What, you think you can do a better job than me?” He asks, approaching the bed. His heart starts to beat faster, flushing his skin more quickly. If Itachi wants to be like _that_ , then fine. Shisui can play this game. “You know I can prove you wrong.”

“Hm.” Itachi doesn’t sound particularly impressed. He looks away from Shisui, letting his eyes close. He looks like he’s having a good time.

Shisui can make it better.

He knocks his knee against the bed. Itachi is so ridiculously fucking tempting, and Shisui can _feel_ his body lighting on fire as he watches him touch himself. “Do you need me to remind you? Have you forgotten how I make you feel?”

Itachi just hums again.

 _Cocky_.

Shisui undoes his pants. They drop to the floor, and he kicks them off. His undergarments fall off next.

Itachi’s eyes grow darker. His gaze roams all over Shisui’s body; his hips arch just a little bit and he squeezes himself harder.

“See something you like?” Shisui asks, trying to sound casual. He is going to fuck Itachi within an inch of his _life_ if he keeps this up.

Itachi only looks at him and smirks again. He doesn’t say anything. His _eyes_ , though, are so full of mirth and teasing and _taunting_ , and he’s still fucking _touching himself,_ and Shisui can’t decide what he wants to do to him first.

“Turn,” Itachi orders. His hand stills on his cock, one thumb brushing at the tip. “I want to see.”

Fire rips up Shisui’s spine. He grins, slowly turning so that Itachi can have a perfect three-sixty of his body. His own dick has grown, stiffening against his toned thigh. He runs a hand over his chest, down his stomach.

Itachi appreciates it, if the biting of his lips is anything to go by.

Shisui puts one knee on the bed, starting to crawl forward, reaching out to grab Itachi’s ankle.

“Stop.” Itachi says.

He pauses, stumbling a little as he stands halfway off the bed. “What?” He’s either insane for hearing that wrong, or Itachi is insane for saying it.

Itachi’s lips curl again. His eyes are smoldering. His hand is still _moving_ , and Shisui wants to smack it out of the way and shove Itachi all the way into the back of his throat. “I said stop. You wouldn’t disobey your King, would you, Shisui?”

Shisui swallows. He feels his stomach slide down a little bit. “Of course not,” he breathes.

“Then sit.”

There’s a chair next to the bed. Shisui grabs it by the back and yanks it toward him, pushing it as close as he can to the bed before sitting down. He has a perfect view of Itachi’s naked body, _all of it_ , and his dick is standing at attention so faithfully it starts to hurt.

He grabs himself, squeezing the base, and starts to tug on it.

“No,” Itachi says again.

Shisui makes a strangled noise. “What!?”

“I said _no_.” He stills, pushing himself up on one elbow. “You’re not listening well at all. I wouldn’t expect to have my authority questioned so much.”

Shisui’s fingers twitch. He manages to move his hand to the side of the chair, gripping it like a lifeline. “Forgive me, my King,” he breathes.

Itachi gives him a playful little smile. He drops back down to the bed so he can keep touching himself.

Shisui tries to keep it together. He has to consciously remind himself to not openly drool. Itachi’s body is nigh perfect from stem to stern, from his face, more beautiful than anything else Shisui has ever seen, down his neck and chest and stomach, his ass and legs. Shisui even thinks that Itachi’s ankles are pretty.

He’s smitten with every single inch of him.

Itachi lets out a soft moan, quiet and barely leaving the back of his throat. His eyelashes flutter, hand still stroking _slow._

Shisui’s body is hotter than a furnace, sweat beading down the back of his neck even though he’s sitting still. His teeth grind together, brows furrowed, foot flexing against the floor.

“Let me touch you,” he breathes, eyes trained on Itachi’s movements.

“No,” Itachi answers.

“Let me touch me?” His voice is only a little strangled.

Itachi’s gaze is dark and coy. “Absolutely not.”

Itachi lifts one hand to his mouth, then, and slips two fingers past his lips. He sits there for a moment, one hand moving lazily on his dick, and mouths around his own fingers. When they’re wet enough, he slides them down his chest, stomach, and between his legs.

He huffs, facial expression pinching, and Shisui recognizes that look (he’s burned it into his memory) even though Itachi’s leg is blocking off the view.

“Spread your legs,” Shisui croaks, and he doesn’t even care that he sounds as desperate as thirsting man in a drought, “please.”

Itachi snorts gently. Shisui doesn’t see what is so silly about the request. He just wants to _see_ , wants to see all of Itachi, even the most intimate places—especially the most intimate places.

Itachi’s mouth falls open, back arching off the bed.

“Please, my King,” Shisui begs.

Itachi pauses, considering, and then gives into him. He shifts on the bed, pushing his legs open and bending his knees so Shisui can get the full view. Shisui has the sense to still feel pride that even when Itachi starts to order him around, Shisui can still get his way.

He watches Itachi sink his own fingers into himself. His fingernails are biting into the wood of the chair’s armrest, so hard that he wonders if they will fall off. Maybe they will, maybe his fingers will fall off, or his dick or his whole head.

“My King,” he starts again, voice scratchy. He can’t take his eyes off of Itachi fingering himself. “Let me serve you, my King.”

Itachi merely hums.

“Please, my King?” He licks his lips. He wants to lick _Itachi_. “You have always been such a gracious ruler, so generous to your people. You wouldn’t deny a servant in need, would you?”

Itachi actually laughs at that. He lets his fingers slip out of himself and sits up, pushes himself to the edge of the bed so that his legs hang over the edge. His face is still teasing, hair curving across the line of his arm.

“Alright,” he finally says.

Shisui is out of the chair the second the word leaves his lips.

He drops to his knees in front of the bed. The friction from the carpet, soft as it is, still burns against his knees. He’s so worked up, so out of his mind desperate that he thinks it feels _good_ , thinks that maybe he wants Itachi to squeeze him so tightly it hurts, that he wants Itachi to yank his hair and dig his nails into his skin.

Itachi’s eyes are half hooded, his mouth not fully fighting off his smile. His hair tumbles down his shoulder and against his bare chest.

Shisui folds like it isn’t even his choice. He slips his hand under Itachi’s foot, fingers brushing against the underneath of his arch, tracing the slope. The other hand curls around the back of his ankle as he pulls it up to his lips. He kisses the top of his toes, where the tendons pull up, and then slides his lips up his arch—his skin is still so warm from the bath, and Shisui feels a surge of fondness over how Itachi likes practically boiling himself alive when he bathes. He kisses a line up his foot, eyes closed; his lips trail around the inside of his foot, pressing three kisses against the bony bump by his heels, and then lays a crown of attention around his ankle.

He hears Itachi fondly mutter something along the lines of ‘ridiculous,’ so he finally opens his eyes and looks up.

Itachi’s face is strangely serious. The act he’s been trying to keep up has slipped away entirely, and he’s looking at Shisui the way he usually does, like he’s the most important thing in the entire world.

Shisui bends back down, smothering Itachi’s ankle in kisses again before trailing his lips up his leg. He takes his time, covering every square inch of skin, and stops when he gets to Itachi’s knee, leaning his head against it. He makes eye contact with Itachi. “May I keep kissing you, your majesty?”

The tiniest of smiles curves at Itachi’s lips. His eyes are laughing. “Yes.”

Shisui pushes himself up off his knees, hovering over Itachi as he kisses gardens onto his thighs and hips. He gets close enough that he can feel Itachi’s dick on his cheek, but doesn’t try to put it in his mouth, despite how badly he _wants to_ , because he has a feeling Itachi won’t give in so easy.

That’s fine, though, because Shisui genuinely feels pleasure from running his lips and tongue across Itachi’s stomach and chest. He keeps his hands fisted in the sheets, self-control a hairsbreadth away from letting him sink his fingers into Itachi’s hair.

Itachi’s hands run up and down his waist. They leave warm, feathery touches on his skin as they trace his hips and the muscles banded over his ribs.

Shisui likes to think he’s no longer the man that treated human life so carelessly, that he would no longer needlessly kill like he did in his days as a ruthless assassin, but he knows that he would gladly slaughter again if that’s what it took to keep Itachi’s hands on him.

“You’re so gorgeous, my King,” Shisui murmurs over his skin. He kisses a line down Itachi’s sternum. “More beautiful than the finest piece of art.”

Itachi doesn’t say anything; Shisui feels fingers curl around the back of his neck.

Shisui’s fists the fur throw. He thinks he might break his fingers resisting the urge to touch Itachi, so he focuses on licking a strip across Itachi’s collar bone. “Every inch of you is a masterpiece,” he breathes. “Lord Sai himself could not craft something so magnificent.”

He doesn’t look up from the patterns he’s kissing into his skin, but Itachi’s chest gently trembles underneath his lips, and his fingers slip into his hair, so he thinks that Itachi is laughing.

Itachi’s neck is soft under his lips. He feels him swallow, moves to kiss against his pulse, breathes his scent in deep.

He straddles Itachi’s hips and leans down over his face. He can feel Itachi’s breath brush over his lips, and he wants to kiss him more than he wants air in his lungs. He presses just slightly closer, nuzzling their noses together. “May I kiss you, your Majesty?”

Itachi stares at his lips, eyes unfocused, and at first Shisui _really_ thinks that he will say yes, but then, “No, I don’t think so.”

Shisui has to keep himself from whining out loud. His fingers clench in the bedsheets. “Alright, my Lord,” he relents, slipping away from him. It’s physically painful to put distance in between them, and all his body, mind, and heart and mind want is to squeeze Itachi so hard he can’t breathe.

Instead, he kneels on the floor again.

Itachi follows him up, sitting at the edge of the bed again. He runs his fingers through Shisui’s curls.

“You keep sitting at my feet like a well-trained dog,” Itachi says, amused. He tugs on Shisui’s hair, drawing him up so his neck is arched.

Shisui swallows. “What do you want me to do, my king?”

Itachi eyes him for a second. “Bark.”

Shisui’s eyes widen. “For real?” he rasps.

Itachi’s expression breaks, eyes going warm on the edges, and he starts to laugh. “No, not for real.” He smiles at Shisui for a moment before leaning down over him. “But if I really wanted you to, you would.”

He nods, movement a little restricted from the fist in his hair. “Yes,” he says, knowing it to be true, “I would.” He swallows. “I would do anything.”

Itachi traces the tip of his index finger alone Shisui’s jaw. “So obedient all of the sudden.”

Shisui won’t say it, because he’s being _good_ , but the back of his mind is yelling that he will do whatever Itachi wants so much as he starts to _touch him_ already. He’s one particularly horny thought away from saying fuck it and tackling Itachi to the bed.

But Itachi’s being so coy, so playful, and the grinning light in the back of his eyes isn’t fully disguised by his act. It’s _hot_ , and more than anything Shisui just likes to see Itachi having fun.

It’s not like he has every had a problem worshipping and serving Itachi anyways, bedroom or not.

“Get on your back,” Itachi says, scooting up toward the headboard. Shisui scrambles onto the bed, crawling into the middle and throwing himself down while Itachi gets something out of their bedside table.

Itachi turns back around, bottle in hand, to see Shisui spread eagle with an eager smile and puppy dog eyes. He laughs once, one hand covering his mouth. “You are _ridiculous,”_ he says warmly, settling down next to him.

Shisui grins, positively sparkling.

Itachi’s fingers look particularly long as Itachi drizzles oil over them. Shisui watches him with rapt attention as he grips Shisui’s thigh with one hand, pulling it up and spreading him open just a bit more. His fingernails bite into his own palms.

“Fucking _finally,_ ” he groans quietly, hips arching up, as he feels Itachi’s fingers push into him.

“Is that backtalk I hear?” Itachi murmurs.

“No, your Majesty,” Shisui replies, sweet as sugar.

“Such a handful,” Itachi mutters, but before Shisui can reply his fingers press _there_ , and Shisui is twisting his hands in the sheets and mumbling curses.

Though their positions are usually switched, Itachi is marvelously good at fingering him. Maybe it’s _because_ Itachi is more often on the receiving end that he’s so good at it. Shisui doesn’t mean to _brag_ or anything, but he knows he makes Itachi feel an unreasonable amount of pleasure, confirmed by Itachi’s noises, facial expressions, and the way he’ll do almost anything under Shisui’s touches. Not only does Itachi know what _good_ feels like, but he’s a stubborn perfectionist, so of course he has figured the most efficient, precise way to have Shisui moaning his name.

And he _is_ , except instead of his name he’s saying ‘your majesty’ and ‘my king’ and ‘oh god fuck me already.’

Itachi’s eyes are focused and determined, sharp as they watch Shisui’s reactions.

“Itachi,” Shisui groans, neck arching.

“’Your Highness,’” Itachi corrects.

“ _Fuck_.” Shisui pushes his hips against Itachi’s hand. “Your Highness. Fuck.”

“What a crass way to speak to your King.”

“You should put something in my mouth, then,” Shisui suggests.

Itachi pulls his fingers out. “I think you would like that too much.”

Shisui’s heart is hammering so loudly he can hear it almost as loudly as his words. Itachi settles himself in between Shisui’s legs, pushing them back so his knees are bent all the way to his chest. Shisui is exposed as possible, Itachi’s eyes trained on him; he bites his lips. He feels overly sensitive, worked up halfway out of his mind. Itachi hasn’t touched his dick even once and he still wonders if he’ll come the second Itachi is finally inside him.

He braces one hand on the bed next to Shisui’s hip, stroking himself a couple of times. Just as Shisui feels his tip press against him, he pauses.

Itachi leans forward until Shisui is looking at him in the eyes and says, “You’re entirely stunning, Shisui.”

Shisui isn’t able to do anything besides blush before Itachi moves his hips forward.

He _groans_ , head and eyes rolling back alike, as he feels Itachi push into him.

Itachi watches him carefully, gives him a moment to adjust.

“Fuck me,” Shisui rasps, trying to push his hips down. He isn’t waiting any longer; he won’t mind if it hurts a little bit, anyways.

Itachi tilts his head. “What’s that?”

He huffs out a breath. “Fuck me your _highness,”_ he corrects. “ _Please_.”

The corner of Itachi’s lips quirk. He pulls one of Shisui’s leg over his shoulder, sliding out.

“Fuck,” Shisui mumbles as Itachi fucks back into him. He rolls his hips, picking up the pace until the sound of his thighs slapping against Shisui’s fills the room. Shisui feels _full_ , and he loves the way his body is rocking, but his dick fucking _hurts_ with hard it is.

He focuses on the pleasant burn of Itachi inside of him. Shisui stares at Itachi’s face, sculpted by the gods, and how gorgeous it looks twisted with pleasure, watches Itachi’s hair sway against his side as he moves.

“My King,” he breathes, “I want to kiss you.”

Itachi rocks his hips forward. Dark hair falls in his face, obscuring one eye and part of his cheek. “I don’t really care about what you want.”

Shisui moans out loud. There is no reason for that to be so fucking _hot_. There’s no reason that Itachi taking what he wants without caring about Shisui’s pleasure should feel _good_ , but Shisui is _into_ it. Itachi hits _that_ spot every couple of thrusts, and Shisui feels the tension build up behind his untouched cock.

“Can I touch myself?”

“No,” Itachi grunts, fingers digging into Shisui’s skin around his hips. He straightens, sliding his hand down Shisui’s waist. He grips his hips with both hands, thrust forward more quickly, more disjointed. His facial expression is bunched up, the way it gets when he feels _really_ good, and Shisui tightens around him.

Itachi huffs, mouth falling open, and his hips stutter. “Fuck, Shisui.”

Shisui arches his back up, eyes squeezing shut, as Itachi starts to fuck him harder. “That’s so good, your Majesty. You’re so fucking good at this,” he moans. “You’re such a good _king_ , you’re so good to your people.”

He thinks that Itachi mumbles something along the lines of ‘shut up,’ but then he’s groaning and scratching Shisui’s skin, shoved all the way inside of him.

He trembles for just a second, breaths loud and short, fingers still clenched on Shisui’s hips.

Shisui swallows, clenching around him. “Please tell me you’re going to let me come.”

A smile breaks across Itachi’s face, eyes still closed. He slides out slow and then shifts down the bed so he can bend over.

Shisui doesn’t even attempt to sound coherent as Itachi slides him all the way into his mouth. His legs tense, fingers flying to tangle in Itachi’s hair. He doesn’t care that he lasts all of thirty seconds (he wasn’t expecting anything more), and when the tip of his cock hits the back of Itachi’s throat his eyes roll into the back of his head.

Shisui isn’t even finished orgasming when Itachi pounces on him. His fingers are yanking in Itachi’s hair when Itachi smothers his face over his. His lips are wet and demanding; Shisui gasps in some _much_ needed air as Itachi licks his mouth open, and then Itachi rolls them over so they’re side by side. Shisui presses in closer, one hand coming to Itachi’s face. Itachi’s kisses feel half desperate, and Shisui is gleeful that the whole ‘no kissing’ thing he stuck by was just as hard for him.

When Itachi finally breaks away, panting heavily, he buries his face into Shisui’s neck, curling against his side.

Shisui’s body feels like it’s buzzing. He’s just sore enough for it to feel good. He cannot properly see or hear, but the sound of Itachi’s voice draws him out of his daze.

“Shisui?”

“Hm?” He isn’t sure he can form a coherent sentence just yet.

“Are you okay.”

He lets out a breathy laugh. “Oh, yeah, I’m way more than okay.”

Itachi smiles a little bit. He’s also recovering his breath, and his neck is shimmering with sweat. “You enjoyed yourself, then?”

“Ha!” Shisui reaches out to slip one hand into Itachi’s. “ _Yes_ , Itachi, I think I a little bit more than enjoyed myself.”

Itachi strokes his fingers through Shisui’s hair, watching his curls hug around his fingers. “I’m glad.”

Shisui’s eyes slide closed. “What brought that all on?”

Itachi gives a one shouldered shrug. “I spent a lot of time thinking about you today. It just seemed like a fun idea.”

“Very fun,” Shisui replies with a little smirk. “Very, very fun.” He lets himself melt under Itachi’s loving petting, soaking up the affection. He feels Itachi press kisses to his hair and forehead, stroke fingers against his cheek.

“Shisui,” Itachi says, voice suddenly serious.

Shisui’s vision is still swimming, his ears cottony, but he manages to focus on Itachi’s face only inches from his own.

“I care very much about what you want,” he says, fingers sliding into the curls at the nape of Shisui’s neck.

“What?”

Itachi gives him a gentle kiss. “I said I didn’t care about what you wanted. I care very much; I was only saying that.”

Shisui snorts, letting his head fall back against the pillow. “Yes, Itachi, I understand the concept of dirty talk.”

Itachi frowns a little. “I just wanted to make sure that you understood.”

Eyes falling closed, Shisui smiles just a little. “I think we have set that precedent already from all the times I’ve called you a wet-holed whore,” he quips lightly.

Itachi makes a noise in the back of his throat and settles down on Shisui’s chest. “That is fair.”

Shisui runs his fingers down the hair that fans across Itachi’s back. It’s still slightly damp; he’s idly worried that Itachi will catch sick if he goes to sleep with before it dries. “You know,” he begins, “we could go back to the dungeon.”

Itachi arches an eyebrow, fingers threading into Shisui’s curls as well. “The dungeon.”

“Yeah.” He grins. “You could cuff my hands like you did back in the day.”

“Right.” Itachi’s voice is dry.

“I’m just a dirty criminal, right? Tied up and helpless? You could have your way with me, ya know, I would have to take my royal punishment, right?”

“I don’t know about all of that,” Itachi drawls, sliding one hand up to Shisui’s neck.

“Aw, come on, don’t chicken out now,” Shisui croons, grinning over at him. “I thought you wanted to be my _King_ , Itachi?”

Itachi groans and collapses back into his pillow. “This was a mistake, wasn’t it?”

Shisui snickers. “Far, far from it.”

Itachi stretches, legs and arms tensing, before he reaches over to hold Shisui’s hand. He rubs his thumb across the smooth back of Shisui’s hand, pulls it up to rest their clutched fingers against his cheek. “We should go for a trip to Suna, soon.”

Shisui wrinkles his nose. His hair flops around his head when he turns to look at Itachi. “ _Suna_?”

“Oh, hush. It isn’t even that hot during autumn. Besides, King Gaara is quite eager to show us his kingdom. It would be a shame to turn down his hospitality.”

“I’m pretty sure he’s just trying to lure Naruto over there,” Shisui grumbles.

“Perhaps,” Itachi concedes, “but still, I think that it would be a sign of very good faith.” He looks over to his lover. “It would be nice to have some time away with you,” he says quietly, “where we can be together without worrying about who is watching or what responsibilities are waiting for us.”

Shisui’s heart _melts_ , and his fingers tighten around Itachi’s so much that it starts to hurt. “Well when you say it like that,” he chokes.

Itachi laughs softly and kisses Shisui’s knuckles. “It’s a date, then.”

Shisui swallows thickly. “It’s a date.”

Shisui closes his eyes. The candles in their bedroom flicker gently from the breeze flowing in through the open window; the sweat on his skin is starting to cool in the night air, but Itachi’s hand is warm in his, and it’s all he can feel. The crickets have grown louder, too, a thrumming, continuous song that blurs into white noise in his ears.

“Ah!” Itachi sits up suddenly. “My cake!”

Shisui crooks an eyebrow. “What?”

“My cake!” He smiles. “I did actually want that, you know, it wasn’t a fool’s errand.”

Shisui shifts. “I honestly forgot about that.” He presses his hand to Itachi’s lower back, nudging him back down. “We can eat it later. Just lemme hold you for now.” He grabs the back of Itachi’s knee and crosses it over his body so Itachi’s leg is hooked around him.

Itachi relents easily enough, sighing as he snuggles into his chest. “You’re going to end up falling asleep before we eat it.”

“No, _you’re_ going to fall asleep before we can eat it.” He tugs a blanket over Itachi’s back to keep him warm, tucks it around him.

“I’d never,” Itachi murmurs, eyes already closed.

Shisui cuddles him close. He kisses Itachi’s hair and temple. “Why am I holding you, again? I think you’re the one that should be giving me aftercare.”

Itachi’s eyelashes flutter as he rolls his eyes. He shimmies himself so he’s fully on top of Shisui, both hands moving to gently hold his face. He leans down and kisses his forehead, lips lingering for a moment. He presses back a few more times. “I love you so very, very much, my Shisui.”

“Not as much as I love you, my King.”

He kisses him again. “Those are fighting words, Flicker.”

“Then let’s _fight.”_

Itachi pats his face. “I’m getting cake before we have sex again.”

Shisui opens his arms, making room for Itachi to settle back down. “Tomorrow, then.”

Itachi lets out a big sigh. “Tomorrow.”

“And everyday after that. Till the day we die.”

“It’s a date.”

**Author's Note:**

> i know the pacing of this was really off, so sorry about that.
> 
> this was supposed to be for shisui's bday but shit happened and I didn't get it done. happy late bday to my baby boy I love you sm
> 
> thank you for reading, i hope you liked it. love yall


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